


Blow Us All Away

by L_A_Red94



Series: He is NOT my friend [1]
Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: And Jefferson is less of an asshole than he'd have us believe, And is now head canon, Asshole Tea, Friendship, Gen, Hamilton is scared of storms, Hurt/Comfort, I don't really know how tags work, I'm kidding, Jefferson's Interior Decor, Jefferson's tea collection sounds fucking delightful, Lazy Author, PTSD, Reluctant Best Friends, What group are even in?, What mysteriously well-organised college shenanigans is this?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-05
Updated: 2017-03-05
Packaged: 2018-09-28 11:23:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,607
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10098158
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/L_A_Red94/pseuds/L_A_Red94
Summary: Even Hamilton was getting tired of the constant back and forth - by the time Thomas had ended the meeting, his eyes had begun to glaze over and drift towards the window. As a general principle, when the near-compulsive workaholic looks ready to fall asleep, it's time to call it quits.-It's been a long day. A long, fruitless, exhausting day. All Thomas wants to do is go home, load up on junk food, and sleep for approximately ever.But Hamilton's odd, glazed expression as he stares out the window gives him pause. Because Hamilton... Yeah. He has fucking PTSD, doesn't he?And Thomas is the only one around to help.





	

Thomas scrubbed angrily at his face. In three hours, the group had made barely any progress. They'd drawn up a lengthy list of tasks to bash through before even considering moving on to confront Friedrich over the Monmouth plan, and the past two and a half hours had been spent allocating said tasks and deadlines. Aaron Burr was uncharacteristically transparent about wanting something glitzy-looking for his resume, but didn't have time for anything huge. Charles Lee had insisted on leading a task, Adams was the only one of them remotely qualified to lead on the legal front, but was going back to Massachusetts for a week and wasn't sure he'd be able to finish the paperwork in time...

Even Hamilton was getting tired of the constant back and forth - by the time Thomas had ended the meeting, his eyes had begun to glaze over and drift towards the window. As a general principle, when the near-compulsive workaholic looks ready to fall asleep, it's time to call it quits.

"So we agree that Alexander, James and I can divide up the papers between us," Jay clarified, rubbing her temples slowly. "Is ten between us reasonable? We've got the rest of the month."

"Fine by me," James agreed. Because James was dedicated and hard-working, as well as completely brilliant. Hamilton nodded, still out of it.

"And I'll handle the legal stuff, if John is able to proofread," Thomas tried to keep the weary edge out of his voice, because it wasn't like Adams didn't care about the group - he was just less willing to pour all of his time and energy into it. Which was probably a smart move, if he didn't want to end up with Jay's constant headaches, or Hamilton's apparent new zombie-persona.

"Which leaves me to handle social media and funding," Angelica stretched, rolling her shoulders. "Should be able to delegate the latter to some freshmen, to be honest. Future leaders of the group can demonstrate their skill by selling cookies."

Thomas laughed. At least someone wasn't beaten down by the late semester and long meetings.

"We should get going before the storm picks up," Madison pointed out. "Don't wanna get stranded."

The others nodded, but Thomas was feeling jittery. He'd feel better getting a couple hours of work done.

"You go - I live nearby," he made a flapping gesture with one hand. "Best get the back of this broken tonight."

It wasn't until the others had filed out that he realised Hamilton remained sitting, laptop open, headphones in.

Irritated - he really wasn't looking for a lock down with Hamilton of all people - he waved a hand in front of his face.

"Time's up, Hamilton," he told him, yanking out an ear bud. "Don't you live off campus? Probably should head back."

Hamilton's scowled, eyes flicking to the window and back.

"Bit busy here, Jefferson," he snapped, voice surprisingly alert. "I need to get the bulk of these reports done by the end of the week - I'll be too busy during break."

"Right, gotta spend the vacation begging for table scraps, or they'll send you back to the workhouse," he rolled his eyes. Hamilton really could lay it on thick with the whole poverty line, as though he wasn't dating the son of one of the richest men in the state.

"Unpaid internship and a job, you ass," he retorted. "Now get lost, I'm busy."

Thomas rolled his eyes and went to settle in the armchair by the window. The storm sounds were loud, but comforting. He loved being indoors during a storm. During the hot summer rains of Monticello, he'd curl up in the window box with book, while Martha sat nearby sewing or playing piano. New York's late winter was cold and hostile, but the room was well-heated and the city view obscured by fog. He could almost convince himself he was home, warm and relaxed and away from the noise of a city.

Almost.

The blare of Hamilton's music was completely audible, even through his headphones. He rolled his eyes and returned to scouring the text before him, but it was hard to focus through the garbled after-sounds of whatever crap the other man was listening to.

Five, ten minutes had passed, and something had to be done.

Groaning, he stood and marched over to where Hamilton sat hunched and scowling.

"Hamilton!" he half-shouted, tugging his shoulder. The other man jumped, sending a half-cold cup of coffee spinning to the floor, followed by a stack of notes.

"Shit," Hamilton hissed, grabbing the papers away from the mess. His headphones dangled from the desk, blaring out some tuneless garbage as he spread paper towels along the carpet.

"What the hell, Jefferson?" he demanded. "I almost had a heart attack."

Taken aback, but not deterred, Thomas just deepened his scowl.

"I was going to ask if you'd mind playing your "music" at a less ear-melting volume," he deadpanned. "I can't concentrate."

"Then you can wear headphones too," Hamilton suggested spreading out the ruined papers on a clean patch of floor to dry. "I can't concentrate without music."

"Are you actually going out of your way to annoy me?" It had been a really long day, and the other man's shit was more irritating than ever.

"Yes, because my entire life and every action specifically revolve around you-"

Wind slammed against the window, rattling the frame. Hamilton flinched, eyes darting to the storm and back. Was he...? Pieces clicked together, and Thomas almost laughed.

"Are you scared of storms?"

His scowl was confirmation.

"Piss off and mind your own business, Jefferson," he retorted, grabbing her laptop and moving to the armchair as far away from Thomas's as possible. It was also the furthest from the window. "If you can hear me from over here, then you're a freak of nature, and there's nothing else I can do for you."

"Whatever - just keep it down?"

Shaking his head, he reclaimed his seat. Imagine Hamilton, the short-tempered, protean student, ready to verbally assault anyone who looked at him wrong being afraid of thunder storms. Ridiculous, and just a little funny.

It also meant that he'd probably stay in the meeting room all night, safe and indoors.

Rolling his eyes - he was not about to let irritation at Hamilton cut into his work - Thomas settled down to research.

It was 10:30 when he shut his laptop and stood with a stretch. He was tired and hungry, but satisfied. If he could get the report out to Adams by the end of the week, then the other man would have plenty of time to get back to him, even with his somewhat shaky work-ethic.

He'd packed up his things and was moving towards the door when he remembered Hamilton. The other man's headphones were still in and doing their best to deafen him, but it didn't look like the music was doing the trick. His face was ashy, eyes squeezed shut and... was he crying?

Sweet Jesus.

He could walk away. Pretend he hadn't noticed. Let Hamilton do whatever the fuck he was doing alone and in peace. Hell - he'd probably be happier thinking that nobody had seen him in this state. The man was ridiculously proud, sometimes.

And... Christ. He was actually shaking. What the hell? Wasn't he from the Caribbean? He must have seen worse storms than this?

And suddenly Thomas felt like a complete asshole. Of course he'd seen worse storms than this. He'd lived through the St. Croix hurricane, and now he was having some sort of post-traumatic episode.

Groaning, he walked across the room to where they kept the tea and coffee things. Why him? Anyone could have comforted Hamilton better than he could, except maybe Adams. 

Angelica wasn't exactly a warm and cuddly person, but she liked Hamilton and knew things about him, and cared if he had a panic attack in the meeting room. James and Hamilton tended to fall out a lot, but he would still be willing and able to help pull the man out of whatever state he was in.

Why him? The universe had granted him good looks, a wealthy family, a sharp mind and amazing talent, but he'd be the first to admit that his interpersonal skills were lacking. 

With a martyred sigh, he approached Hamilton and shut his laptop.

The music in the headphones stopped, and Hamilton opened his eyes to glare at him.

"What now, Jefferson?" his voice was a little breathless. "I'm actually kinda busy-"

Thomas thrust the tea at him.

"Chill the fuck out, Hamilton," he snapped. "You're indoors, and this storm's not doing any damage."

He tugged away the computer and sat it on a nearby table.

"Just breathe, or whatever the shit you're supposed to do, and try not to weep on the carpet."

Hamilton's eyes blazed - did he even know he was crying?

"You're a complete ass," he said.

Thomas nodded.

"Just breathe, Hamilton. You're okay."

The small man sucked in a breath, flinching at the sound of wind against the windows.

"Do you, er..." Thomas tugged at a strand of hair. "Do you wanna talk about it."

Hamilton shrugged.

"You were in Croix, right? 2 years ago?"

A nod.

"Fuck."

Another nod. If he'd known that all it took to silence Hamilton was to make him relive a natural disaster, then... Then nothing, probably. He wasn't equipped to deal with this kind of fall out.

"The roof collapsed," he said quietly, voice still breathy as though he were keeping himself from screaming. "I hid under the counter, but got trapped."

"How long were you there?"

"2 days. I couldn't move... just listen."

"Fuck."

Hamilton shook his head, scraping at his face with a free hand.

"This is ridiculous," he muttered, getting to her feet. His eyes slid over to the window, and Thomas was suddenly reminded of Martha when she saw a spider. She'd be terrified, too frightened to kill it and too frightened to look away. The only difference was that Martha was warm and kind and sweet and funny and Thomas would do anything to make her happy, and Hamilton was... Well.

"How's the legal work going?" the man asked suddenly, turning from the window. "I'm only pre-law, but I've done most of the core reading for a first year grad course-"

"Of course you have-"

"And it's not like Adams is gonna do anything-"

"Are you calm yet? I'm gonna take off in a minute, so if you're just pretending to be okay, you're on your own."

That was a dickish thing to say, but Hamilton just rolled his eyes at him and sipped his tea. His eyes widened a little.

"You told me that if I ever touched your fancy crap tea, you'd lace my coffee with laxatives!" he exclaimed.

"It's a one time only offer, you philistine."

"Actually, evidence suggests that the philistines were way more socially advanced than most of their contemporaries, but they were branded uncouth by historians when evidence was found that they preferred beer to wine. A special kind of snobby ignorance, you know?"

"How in the hell do you know that?"

"Dolley Payne's a classics major and her pillow talk is kinda babbly." Thomas rolled his eyes. He liked Dolley well enough, but her taste (except for James, obviously) was pretty questionable.

"I can't imagine."

Hamilton's grip on the tea tightened slightly at the roll of thunder outside and a look of frustration crossed his face.

"Look, Jefferson, you've been weirdly nice about all this, but you're free to leave," he said, taking another sip. "I can distract myself with work until it blows over."

Like you did earlier? he thought about asking, but bit his tongue.

"You can't stay here all night," he opted for instead. "Look, I live a block away, basement floor. You can crash on my couch - you won't be able to hear the storm from there."

Hamilton stared at him for a long moment, frowning slightly. Thomas had known the man long enough to know that he was churning thoughts at a hundred miles per hour behind that suspicious frown, and that it was extremely unusual for him not to vocalise them all at once in a semi-coherent mulch.

"You're serious," he said at last.

"Yeah, well, I do actually have a conscience somewhere," Thomas rolled his eyes.

"We'd kill each other if I spent the night at your place," Hamilton pointed out, not inaccurately.

"Lafayette moved in with me this semester," he retorted. "He's weirdly fond of you, probably wouldn't want you spending the night alone either."

"I'm not a fucking china doll," Hamilton snapped, but it lacked sting. "Alright. Thanks."

It took a full half hour for Hamilton to pack up his laptop, stalling the inevitable plunge into the rain, and Thomas tapped his foot impatiently.

"I'd like to sleep some time this century," he said drily. Hamilton flipped him off. Finally, the man pulled on an over-sized rain coat and nodded to the door.

"After you," he suggested, voice a little tighter than usual.

Thomas stepped outside and half-cursed as wind buffeted him on one side. How had he not noticed the storm get so bad? Hamilton stepped out after him and gasped. Instinctively and, as he told himself later, mostly to shut him up, he reached over and grabbed the other man's arm.

"Just one block, Hamilton," he yelled over the wind. They were both already drenched - opening an umbrella would be a monumentally bad idea in this wind.

It took almost ten minutes to get there, with Thomas half-leading, half-dragging his self-proclaimed nemesis behind him. Finally, they collapsed through the threshold, Hamilton pale and shaking. Sure enough, the basement floor (totally worth it for how close to campus he got to live) blocked out all sounds from outside. It could be tropical sun and they wouldn't know it.

"You can take a shower," he suggested, feeling awkward. "Lafayette'll probably loan you a dry shirt for the night..."

"You're back late." Speak of le diable... Laf's voice drifted in from the kitchen, amused. "I was beginning to think you drowned."

"I didn't think you cared," Thomas retorted, a little relieved. If there was anyone more qualified to handle Hamilton, in any state, then it was Lafayette.

"Well, I need your half of the rent, mon ami - Alex?" Thomas had to do an embarrassingly slow mental backflip to connect 'Alex' to 'Alexander' to 'Hamilton'. 'Endearments' and 'Hamilton' had never crossed conceptual boundaries for him before.

"Hey, Laf," Hamilton greeted the Frenchman, voice strained. He was still shaking, still had that distant, tense look on his face as though preparing himself for danger.

Laf's face hardened slightly, and he crossed the room to his friend, resting a hand on his shoulder.

"What happened?" Voice tense, angry. "Was it Reynolds? I swear to God, I'll kill him-"

"What? No - I haven't seen Reynolds in weeks, Laf," he interrupted, voice a little steadier. "I just... um... I freaked out a bit because, you know... storm."

Realisation dawned on Lafayette's face and he ran a hand over his face tiredly. Thomas was trying not to eavesdrop, but couldn't help the budding curiosity.

"I didn't think," Laf confessed. "And Tom brought you here, because it is nearby and underground."

He nodded. The Frenchman looked taken aback.

"Go take a long shower, mon petit lion," he steered him towards the bathroom, "the black towels are mine, and I will lend you a shirt, yes?"

"Nothing with ruffles," Hamilton requested, as he shut the door behind him. Laf cackled, turning away to face Thomas. The two had been good friends for years now, and Thomas enjoyed living with the other man, but seriously questioned his taste in friends.

"You look like shit," Laf informed him, not unkindly. "Come sit down, Tom."

He obeyed, still feeling a little dazed.

"This isn't permanent," Thomas informed his friend. "When he calms down, I'm going back to hating him."

"He wouldn't have it any other way," Laf agreed. "It's a point of pride, I think."

Hamilton's pride... God help him if he wasn't far too used to that by now.

"Good. We can actually agree on something." He crossed the room to grab some cereal.

"It was good of you to bring him here, given that you don't see eye to eye on many things."

Given that he's a money-obsessed monarchist, Thomas's brain supplied, but he bit back the comment.

"I'm not a complete asshole," he settled for. Out of cornflakes. God damn everyone to a muesli-filled hell. "Plus, he did kind of save my life on the public speaking thing last month."

Because speaking to a small room or debate chamber? Easy enough. Addressing the entire Sophmore body? He still felt sick at the thought. Fortunately for all parties concerned, Hamilton loved the sound of his own voice, and didn't even rub Thomas's horror of large crowds in his face when he filled in for him.

Shaking his head at the memory, he shoved some bread in the toaster.

"You two could probably get along quite well if you avoided money talk," Laf suggested, but Thomas grimaced.

"Just because I wasn't an asshole today doesn't mean I want to listen to Hamilton ramble about big governments for 6 hours," he retorted, rolling his eyes. "Doesn't his lack of filter bother anyone else?"

"He's excitable," Laf shrugged as though his friend was an enthusiastic puppy. "He's had a hard life, and now he's able to go to college and spend his time ranting on twitter instead of working to survive. I think he's still unused to that."

As though if he didn't fill every silence with explosive thoughts and ideas and words, he would shrivel and blow away like his home.

"Yeah, well he doesn't have to be so annoying about it," Thomas muttered, but Laf just grinned.

"You two have more in common than you think."

Well, there was no way he was gonna dignify that with a response, so he fished in the cupboard for peanut butter instead.

"What happened with Reynolds?" he asked, mostly to change the conversation. "You looked ready to kill back there."

"I was and am," his friend muttered, dark look crossing his face. "You know Reynolds used his girlfriend as a punching bag, yes?"

"I'd heard rumours," Thomas responded drily. An anonymous someone had written a very lengthy character assassination of the man and published it online. He could see where this was going.

"Well, Maria reached out to the little lion for help. Being the diplomatic person that he is, Alex stormed into Reynold's home, gathered Maria's things and threatened to mace him if he bothered the lady again." Laf smiled grimly. "I take it you read the open letter?"

Thomas nodded. It was campus legend.

"Well, Reynolds didn't take kindly to it, and decided it would be a good idea to send Alex a series of increasingly threatening letters. A month ago, John, Hercules and I got wind of this behaviour and... well..." he shrugged. "Evidently, Reynolds wasn't stupid enough to start again."

"Good for him," Thomas grimaced. Hamilton's boyfriend, Laurens, had been in more fights than anyone he knew. Mulligan didn't strike Thomas as violent, but he was built like a brick shit house and inexplicably adored Hamilton. And Lafayette, tall and muscular and very protective of all his friends... Disappearing into the woodwork was probably the smartest thing Reynolds had done that semester. "What did he threaten to do?"

"That one isn't my place to tell," Lafayette sighed. "But Alex was quite indignant about the whole thing."

Translation: Hamilton would've tried to fight the guy twice his size without a moment's reflection. Idiot.

"Speaking of le petit lion, I believed I promised him something to wear." He stood with a stretch and a grin. "I believe my halloween shirt will suffice..."

Thomas snorted. Laf had dressed as a French revolutionary in an extremely fouffy outfit, lace sleeves and all. Hamilton, perennially attached to that god awful hoody of his, would pitch a fit.

Still, when the man emerged five minutes later, clean and calm, he was dressed in a large, plain black t-shirt and what looked like Lafayette's boxers. Strange, but not as ridiculous as he'd have been in the halloween shirt.

"You have a picture of John Locke in your bathroom," Hamilton informed him, as though he didn't know already.

"Yes?"

"John Locke," he emphasised slowly. "In your bathroom."

"He's one of the greatest thinkers who ever lived!"

He snorted derisively.

"Even if that weren't patently false, it'd be weird to have his picture in your bathroom. Like... he was watching me pee..."

Okay, it was a small framed picture, and it wasn't facing the toilet.

"You're ridiculous," Thomas retorted, rolling his eyes. "Lots of people put pictures in their bathrooms."

"Lots of psychopaths," he shot back. "Do you have political philosopher dolls on your dresser? I bet you do! Like a Jean-Jacques Rousseau voodoo doll-"

"I do not have Rousseau anywhere in this apartment!" he snapped, scandalised.

"Seriously? John Locke has pride of place in your bathtub, but you won't have Rousseau-?"

"Mes amis!" Lafayette snapped. "It's past midnight, yes? And our neighbour works weekends? Would you please refrain from the squabbles until tomorrow?"

They glared at each other for a long moment before Thomas rolled his eyes.

"Whatever. I'm going to bed. Night Laf. Hamilton."

"Jefferson." His voice was equally cool.

Thomas had barely stepped out of the room before he heard Hamilton's whispered defence of Rousseau. Thomas found himself smiling. Things hadn't changed that much after all.

**Author's Note:**

> So, this is just a thing for me now? Platonic BFFs Hamilton and Jefferson bitch and moan about each other until angst forces them to work together? I've written so many of these, guys. So, so many. Which means I'm doing a series! Roughly one a week, depending on how I get on with editing. I promise all of the angst, and all of Hamilton and Jefferson being best friends in every conceivable way short of actually liking each other. 
> 
> Let me know what y'all think!


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